


Due Punishment

by Wallwalker



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Gen, Mind Control, Missing Scene, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-28
Updated: 2011-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallwalker/pseuds/Wallwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks he has been walking for a very long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Due Punishment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lassarina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/gifts).



He thinks that he has been walking for a very, very long time, but he can't remember.

He wants to rest, but he cannot. He cannot stop himself from moving, one foot in front of the other, his armor far too heavy on his shoulders and his body about to collapse from the cold. But he can't stop, not even to collapse. He must keep walking. It is vitally important that he continue, although right now he does not remember why.

Another step, step after step after step. He does not know where he is going. He does not know where he is, or what lies beyond the snowfield, or even how long he's been walking - he's trying to think about it, but every time he tries the memory seems to slip away, replaced by the terrible compulsion to keep walking, to keep going and damn everything else.

How had it come to this? Why can't he stop? He silently rails against whatever is forcing him to walk, tries to speak aloud but finds that he can't do it. He can't talk out loud. The orders in his mind will not allow him.

Fighting, he tries again. _Damn you,_ he thinks with all of the force he can muster. _Why are you doing this to me?_

No answer. The thoughts in his mind, though not his own, are not commanded by him. He receives nothing, not even a thought.  
He keeps walking. What else can he do? He doesn't know how he got there. He doesn't know how to leave.

Why? What? How?

He remembers... cold, he thinks. Yes, the cold. No, no, the cold is now, but he still remembers a different sort of cold, steel and not snow, and he remembers... he remembers....

The thoughts come to his mind with perfect clarity for a moment before they are suddenly and brutally stripped away.

 _No,_ a voice says in his mind. _No. Not yet._

He hisses through his teeth. It seems to be all that this thing will allow him to do. He wants to ask who he is, what is making him do this....

 _You will remember when I permit it._ And then the thought is gone, the thought that is not his own. But the compulsion still exists, and it keeps him walking, his legs moving of their own accord. He can no longer feel his fingers or his toes. He knows, distantly, that this is a terrible thing and that if he does not do something soon he will be in a great deal of trouble, but he also knows that he must keep going. It is important - more important than his own life.

He keeps going.

After a time the wind that is driving the terrible snow seems to slow. The man looks up, his vision mostly obscured by the helm that he wears, staring blankly ahead.

A woman is looking down at him - or is it a woman? It looks like one, and yet... her face is angular, full of an unworldly and unnatural grace, but grace nonetheless. She is not smiling down on him, merely staring at him with her strange, blank golden eyes.

He wants to tell her to go away, but the dry laughter in his head does not allow him. He can only stare as he walks, as she says words that he knows he should understand but cannot. He sees her shake her head, sees her stare up at the sky and speak strange sounds - somehow he can't grasp at their meanings. He wants to puzzle at this, but he can't spend the time to worry about it; he must only press on. He must, although he does not know why he must. He knows he risks someone's displeasure.

But why should he care? Why should he worry about someone who is displeased with him, who won't even tell him why he is there? Just what, exactly, is going on?

He can't remember. He should be able to remember; he should have been able to understand. He should not be able to walk at that moment. He should have fallen unconscious many times over. He finds himself wondering whether or not he will still have limbs if he survives. If he survives. That is far from a certainty at that moment.

 _We shall see,_ the strange thought says. _Such a sacrifice would not be undeserved._

He hates the thoughts with everything he has... but only for a split second, before the emotions melt away like the snow.

The beautiful golden creature is following him. He knows this, although he cannot turn around; he can hear her, and he knows by the lessening of the wind. He is not sure whether or not to be grateful.

He wishes that he knew how he had gotten there. Maybe that isn't as important as he thinks, but he feels that it is very important that he knows, that he be allowed to remember.

He knows, somehow, that there is a woman. Not the strange golden creature that follows him, but a flesh and blood woman, with pale skin and beautiful eyes and long brown hair. He remembers her in almost perfect detail for just a moment, remembers her tied down before him, remembers the rage rising in his chest as he sees her tied up and helpless, clothed in torn burlap, tears running down her face, calling out for mercy....

Just for a moment, he remembers. He almost remembers her name, and his, and why he's on this terrible snowy field, with a mountain range in the distance. He almost remembers, and he knows that this must be important, and that makes losing it all the more unforgivable.

 _No,_ the thing in his head says, more insistent now. He's angered the one who torments him, he thinks. He is, at that moment, almost proud.

His armor is becoming difficult to walk in, though. He can feel his limbs grow heavier and heaver, can feel his body wearing down. Before too long it will be impossible to go any further, whether or not his mind says that he must, and in a way he wishes for that. Hopes for a collapse, and in a way for death. He does not want to go on. He hears the woman behind him screaming at the sky, but he cannot understand her. He wants to turn and speak to her, ask her if she meant to help him or harm him. He wants to ask her if she will take him home, or if she will at least tell him where his home _is._ He wants to ask her to tell her his name. Any question would do, as long as it was answered, if it meant that she could understand him.

 _You will keep going!_ the voice rages. _If you are to be of use to me, you must be both strong and obedient!_

And he walks. He has no choice.

After more steps - he is not sure how many more - he stops, and wonders if this is the rest he has wanted. But then he realizes that he is staring over the edge of a cliff - a very, very high cliff, so high that he cannot see the bottom. The gale and the snow that is trapped in it blocks his vision, leaves him blinded by the blank whiteness of it all. Horror is rising in his gut, along with fear and bile. He feels his legs tense, feels them ready him for an all-too-familiar motion.

The creature who has been traveling with him is screaming. He can hear her voice, but the words are denied him, only the loud screech that reminds him somehow of wind howling past the mouth of a cave.

His mind... his mind is clearing, at least for the moment. His mind grows less hazy, and he remembers...

He remembers the feel of a spear in his gloved hands, hard and reassuring. Remembers feeling powerful as he tenses his legs in that same familiar motion. Remembers leaping into the air, his strength and the magic of the dragon's blessing propelling him up, further and further. Remembers aiming his spear to strike his target, words of rage and indignation and betrayal on his lips -

Nothing else. Nothing beyond the moment that seemed frozen in time, the moment of rage and frustration as he stared down at his foe -

Who was this foe? He could not remember. The memory was gone, would not show his face. All he could feel was the anger, and the horrible shame over whatever he had tried to do -

 _You must learn humility anew,_ the voice in his mind said again. _You must learn that I am your master._

With horror he felt himself crouch, ready to spring. His mind screamed in denial, in fear, demanding to know who this man was, why he was doing this, what could he have possibly done

The cliff was looming before him, and he was gripped with cold horror as he knew what he was about to do, why he had been forced to walk here. He understood. And there was nothing he could do -

"You promised him to me!" The golden woman. For a moment her words became coherent. "You swore I could have him! You swore -!"

He leaped up over the chasm, staring down at the blank white sky below him, wondering how long he would fall before he struck the ground. The air whistled past him as he started to fall, and he couldn't do anything - he couldn't even scream. All he could do was fall, until he blacked out.

\---

Kain's return to consciousness was slow and hazy, like a drunkard's. He slowly became aware that he was, in fact, not dead, that he was lying on a bed that felt familiar and surrounded by the smell of grease and cold metal. He tried hard to open his eyes, but he couldn't. Then he tried to open his mouth to call for help, and found that he could not make even the smallest sound.

Had that all really happened to him? He remembered... that strange forced march into the snow, the feeling that he could not control anything, not even his own body. Being manipulated, but being aware of all of it. He shuddered at the thought. Why had that happened? Who had done it?

Softly, as if from a great distance, he heard someone speak. "...asked you for nothing else," a woman was ranting, and Kain twitched. It was Barbariccia. She had been there with him, in the mountains. How had he forgotten her, even for a short time? "I have served you well, and all I've ever asked for in return was his life!"

"I have not taken it from you," he heard his master say, in his deep rumbling voice. "I did not stop you from saving him. My point had already been made."

"He could have died out there!"

"But he did not. He is stronger than that." Kain heard Golbez stand, heard his footfalls move closer. "Physically, at least. His mind... hmph." And his master sighed, in honest disappointment. "It was his due for what he had done."

Kain wanted to sit up, wanted to scream and ask what he had done, when he suddenly remembered.

Rosa. Of course. He remembered it vividly, now. Remembered seeing Golbez too closer to her, seeing him lash out at her. Remembered something stirring in his own mind, something stronger for a moment than his devotion to his master. He had... dragons... he had attacked Golbez, or he had tried to.

He had been a fool. He could not stand against Golbez. The forced march into the winter mountains... the confusion, the loss of his own name, the loss of his own ability to comprehend what Barbariccia had been saying... that had been his master's doing. All of that had only served as a reminder that Kain was the servant, and that Golbez was his master in many, many ways.

"I swear to you, Golbez, _I_ am not your toy." Barbaricca was hissing, and the sound was like a fierce summer gale, heard from far away. "Threaten him again, and I will take him far from here. I will make him a creature of the air, and you will not stop me."

"Very well," Golbez said mildly, and Kain heard more footfalls as he started to walk away. "I will ask your brothers to give you my regards when they come to hunt you down."

"You... you can't. You wouldn't. They cannot be -"

"Test me, and we will see."

Kain couldn't move as Golbez walked away. No doubt this was his doing, as well - bending Kain's mind to his will, even in these small ways. Kain had been such a fool. He couldn't stand against Golbez, even in these small ways. He could only obey.

"You will be all right," Barbariccia said beside him. "Rubicante has healed your wounds. And I will not allow Golbez to do such a thing again. He is not as mighty as he believes."

If Kain had been able to speak, he would have laughed, but there would have been no humor in it. Golbez had made it abundantly clear that Kain was his, now. There would be no escape for him.

There was nothing else to do - he still could not move, or speak. Nothing to do but try to sleep again, with the sounds of the wind beside him, and hope that when he woke up, Golbez would forgive him.


End file.
